THE FROZEN GRAIL 

^^i/ Other Poems 



By 
ELSA BARKER 




Book 'A ^ ' ^ ^" T 



Copyright]^"., 



/t/f ::> 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSn^ 



THE FROZEN GRAIL 

AND OTHER POEMS 



THE FROZEN GRAIL 



AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 



ELSA BARKER 



AUTHOR OF "THE SON OF MARY BETHEL' 




NEW YORK 

DUFFIELD & COMPANY 

1910 






Copyright, 1910, by 
DUFFIELD & COMPANY 



Published March, 1910 



THE TROW PRESS, NEW YORK 



C:C!.A2613'32 



CONTENTS 



PAGK 

The Frozen Grail . S 

The Song of the North Pole Flag .... 7 

Freedom > 9 

One of These Little Ones ii 

The Dreamers 13 

■Before Dawn . . . 15 

The Muse ' 17 

Through the Veil 19 

The Conqueror 21 

The Servants of the King 23 

The Midnight Lunch Room . .. . . . . -25 

Poet-Brother 27 

A Book of Magic . -29 

The Master of Pain 31 

After Fifteen Years 33 

Marie 3S 

On a Bundle of New Poets 37 

The Quest 39 

The Counsellors 41 

Requiescat 43 

Dante . . -45 

Beside the Road 47 

To THE Apollo Belvedere . . . . . . . 49 

The Visit op the Muse 51 

The Soul of Art ss 

Vishnu the Pervader 55 

3 



THE FROZEN GRAIL 

PAGE 

The Dweller 57 

The Exile 59 

The Alien Singer . . 61 

Two Friends -63 

In the Mirror 65 

Prayer 67 

Keats 69 

The Poet 71 

Invocation 73 

Two Men of Old 75 

Oscar Wilde 77 

The Angel of the Sepulchre 79 

The Seeker 8r 

The Easter Children 83 

The German Immigrants 85 

Song of the Italian Immigrants 87 

New York Harbour at Night 89 

The Builder 91 

The Invaders 93 

The Word of Summer 95 

My Golden Sands / . 97 

Magdalena 99 

The Vigil of Joseph 10 1 

Come to Me, Little One 103 

The Mosquito 105 

The Visitor 107 

The Haunter of the Twilight 109 

Penitence iii 

On Lake George * . . • 113 

The Guardians 115 

A Word 117 

Realisation 119 

The Offering 121 

The Song of My Soul 123 

The Singer 125 



THE FROZEN GRAIL 

AND OTHER POEMS 



THE FROZEN GRAIL 
(To Peary and his men, before the last expedition.) 

WHY sing the legends of the Holy Grail, 
The dead crusaders of the Sepulchre, 
While these men live? Are the great bards all dumb? 
Here is a vision to shake the blood of Song, 
And make Fame's watchman tremble at his post. 

What shall prevail against the spirit of man, 

When cold, the lean and snarling wolf of hunger, 

The threatening spear of ice-mailed Solitude, 

Silence, and space, and ghostly-footed Fear 

Prevail not? Dante, in his frozen hell 

Shivering, endured no bleakness like the void 

These men have warmed with their own flaming will. 

And peopled with their dreams. The wind from fierce 

Arcturus in their faces, at their backs 

The whip of the world's doubt, and in their souls 

Courage to die — if death shall be the price 

Of that cold cup that will assuage their thirst, 

They climb, and fall, and stagger toward the goal. 

They lay themselves the road whereby they travel. 

And sue God for a franchise. Does He watch 

Behind the lattice of the boreal lights? 

In that grail-chapel of their stern-vowed quest, 

5 



THE FROZEN GRAIL 

Ninety of God's long paces toward the North, 
Will they behold the splendour of His face? 

To conquer the world must man renounce the world? 

These have renounced it. Had ye only faith 

Ye might move mountains, said the Nazarene. 

Why, these have faith to move the zones of man 

Out to the point where All and Nothing meet. 

They catch the bit of Death between their teeth, 

In one wild dash to trample the unknown 

And leap the gates of knowledge. They have dared 

Even to defy the sentinel that guards 

The doors of the forbidden — dared to hurl 

Their breathing bodies after the Ideal, 

That like the heavenly kingdom must be taken 

Only by violence. The star that leads 

The leader of this quest has held the world 

True to its orbit for a million years. 

And shall he fail? They never fail who light 

Their lamp of faith at the unwavering flame 

Burnt for the altar service of the Race 

Sin'ce the beginning. He shall find the strange — 

The white immaculate Virgin of the North, 

Whose steady gaze no mortal ever dared, 

Whose icy hand no human ever grasped. 

In the dread silence and the solitude ' 

She waits and listens through the centuries 

For one indomitable, destined soul. 

Born to endure the glory of her eyes. 

And lift his warm lips to the frozen Grail. 



THE SONG OF THE NORTH POLE FLAG 

I AM the banner of earth's farthest goal ! 
Can any gaze on me and doubt Man's soul 
Is mightier than the armies of despair, 
And older than the Star that guards the Pole? 

The youngest of all banners, I have made 
The loneliest journeys, glad and unafraid; 

I know the crags where hungry horrors crawl. 
And with the wild wind demons I have played. 

Love made me in the smiling earlier years; 
But I was cut with Destiny's cold shears 

From fabrics woven on Fame's iron loom. 
And I am stained with time, with sweat, and tears. 

In the beginning I was meant to be 
Only the nation's emblem; then round me 

New meanings were assembled, and I stand 
Now as the ensign of Man's sovereignty. 

For every star — some stab of adverse Fate; 
My crimson stripes are bands of love and hate 

That have been loosened, and my field of blue 
Is the long Northern night wherein we wait. 
7 



THE FROZEN GRAIL 

Then gaze upon my wounds. For I have left 
Fragments of me in many an ice-fringed cleft; 
Marking the desperate highway step by step 
Are Glory's shrines — and portions of my weft. 

At last I waved on earth's last mound of white, 
And triumphed in the radiant, frosty light ; 

For only he who leaves himself behind 
Shall stand with God upon the utmost height. 



FREEDOM 

CALL no man free nor count his bondage done, 
Though he be master of unminted gold 
With kings to do him homage, if his hold 
Be not so strong on the immortal sun — 
The shining, heliocentric Self — that none 
May loosen it. Fearless and will-controlled. 
Alike though friends pursue him or grow cold — 
That man the crown of liberty has won. 

And fancy not that feeling, and the thrill 
Of love, are absent from him. Infinite 

The love that waits the calling of his will 
Whose longing is the whole world's benefit; 

And happiness shall flood him to the fill — 
When he has mastered the desire of it. 



ONE OF THESE LITTLE ONES 

O LITTLE child, O wide-eyed wondering child ! 
Well do I know you are a captured wild 
Bird from the outer blue, that beats its wings 
Against the barriers of earth-bound things. 
How many miles into the awful vast 
Your mother must have soared, to seize you fast 
And bring you back with her, to be a white 
Proof of the fearless journey ! The sunlight 
Still half bewilders you; and in your sleep 
You smile, because the darkness is so deep 
After the earth-glare, and the rest so kind 
After the search for One you cannot find. 

You are the Dream made flesh. You are the grail 
Pilgrim, — another, passionate and frail. 
Leaving the House of Beauty for the quest 
Of that high Vision by no man possessed. 
Indomitable must be God's desire 
To realise Life's secret and acquire 
Mastery, when he sends you, one by one, 
Eternally, to question the bright sun 
And the dark earth and the indifferent stars ! 
O Baby ! will you pass the golden bars 
II 



THE FROZEN GRAIL 

Guarding the pathway to the great abode? 

Or will you leave your dust to make the road 

Softer for those who follow? I am blind. 

Even as Love or Justice, and I find 

No answer to the riddle that has wrung 

The souls of mothers since the world was young. 



12 



i 



THE DREAMERS 

WHAT matter though the thorn of pain 
Forever seeks our quivering heart, 
And midnight of our tears is fain? 
Our sorrows are the golden grain 
Of the great reaper — Art. 



What matter though we ask for bread, 

And the dull world bestows the stone? 
On God's own manna we are fed. 
Honey of dreams, and wine love-red 
To the dull world unknown. 



Earth's palace doors are open wide 
That narrow souls may enter in; 
But we in Beauty'.= tent abide. 
Adoring that unravished bride 
Whose veil the ages spin. 

We walk the vision-haunted way 
Beyond the rainbow's fragile bridge; 

In Uriel's inner shrine we pray ; 

With equal wonder we survey 
The planet and the midge. 

13 



THE FROZEN GRAIL 

The Rose of Life to us reveals 

Her hidden petals without shame, 
For in our questing faith she feels 
The love that melts the seven seals 
Of the Eternal Name. 



M 



BEFORE DAWN 

WHEN in the lone and silence of the night 
I wake bewildered with desire and dread, — 
Peering among the shadows round my bed 
For something that eludes me in the light, — 
I hearken for those echoes from the height 

That thrilled the dreams still hovering overhead. 
In that dim land where longing lures the dead 
To lend our earth-blind eyes their clearer sight. 

Then, then for one brief heartbeat there appears 
To me the vision of my austere soul, 
Godlike and pure, with storied aureole. 

And eyes that burn with memories of lost years, 
And finger pointing my forsaken goal . . . 

Oh, hide me, God, in the blind deep of tears ! 



15 



.^ .^,^r:-Tvt^-7 



THE MUSE 

SHE is the idol of the wise, 
The mistress of the rhyming race ; 
But pain lurks in her luring eyes, 
And bitter-sweet is her embrace. 

She lightly chains her chosen ones 

Witji whispered secrets, half-confessed; 

But when they summon her, she shuns 
And leaves them to the lonely quest. 

The face of love is not so fair 
As hers; all tender questionings 

And dreams are hidden in her hair. 
And memories of forgotten things. 

The siren of the sea of souls, 

She lures her lovers with the lyre 

To leave their galleys for the goals 
Where burns the sacrificial fire. 

The world and all the wealth of it 
They barter for her lightning kiss — 

The rhythm of the Infinite, 
The vision of the vast abyss. 

17 



THE FROZEN GRAIL 

But they who drink the Muse's breath 
Pay for the draught with many tears — 

Their destiny until their death 
To seek her shadow down the years. 

Sometimes into their lone retreat 
Is blown her veil's divine perfume; 

Sometimes her rainbow-sandalled feet 
Go whispering by them in the gloom. 

And strange and varied gifts she brings: 
To some the amaranth of fame, 

To some the gaunt wolf's yammerings, 
To some the burning book of shame. 

Along the lanes of alien lands 

Their hard and lonely pathway lies, 

And not a being understands 

The wistful madness of their eyes. 

Sometimes, when twilight veils the street, 

A wanderer hears upon the air 
A sound so mystically sweet, 

He sighs a half-forgotten prayer; 

Sometimes the whole world starts, and thrills 
To harmonies that vastly roll . . . 

'Tis only one of them who stills 
With song the yearning of his soul. 



i8 



THROUGH THE VEIL 

ALWAYS it seems 
That only a thin veil — 
Sheer as the music of the nightingale — 
Trembles and streams 
Between me and the mystery of dreams. 

Sometimes at dawn, 

I am so strangely near 

I feel its high, ecstatic atmosphere. 
And then . . . 'tis gone 1 
A breath stirs, and the wonder is withdrawn. 

Sometimes a bird 

Sings at the twilight hour, 

Or I perceive the fragrance of a flower . . . 
And I have heard. 
But cannot speak, the unapparent word. 

Sometimes the breeze 

Passes over my hair 

Like the hand of Something . . . and I turn and stare 
And my soul sees 
A fluttering in the sensitive willow trees ! 

19 



THE FROZEN GRAIL 

But oftener, 

When I am very still, 

Deep in my heart I feel a sudden thrill: 
A messenger 
From the Unseen signals and would confer. 

Some day, I know, 

That Presence will appear — 

Too high to reach, too beautiful to fear ! 
My songs I owe 
To a strange sign it made me long ago. 



20 



1 1 



THE CONQUEROR 

WHAT are the fears and toils of life to me, 
That I should tremble on my guarded throne 

Or plead for pity, making human moan 
Like any helpless creature ! Verily 
The crown is to the conqueror, and I see 

Beyond this hour of battle. I have sown 

With lavish hand my fertile fields, and own 
The plenty of my harvests. Destiny, 
Tyrant of slaves, is servant of my will; 

To all my gods are her libations poured. 
And only at my bidding may she fill 

The cups of good and evil on my board. 
My song Time's warning finger shall not still. 

Nor Pain destroy me with his flaming sword ! 



21 



THE SERVANTS OF THE KING 

ONE day I wandered out upon the road 
That spans the mad world, near my calm abode, 
Seeking companions in the restless throng 
That staggered on beneath its varied load. 

I bore no burden, save a rhymester's pack 
That lay as light as wings upon my back; 

My goal was life, my only task to sing 
And speed the sun round the glad Zodiac. 

I hailed a haggard fellow with a pile 

Of printed stuff — the world's ephemeral file, 

Calling, " Come, Hsten to a troubadour ! " 
He said, " I may have time — after a while." 

There passed another in a gorgeous dress, 
Laden with gems, but pale with weariness. 

" Pause, friend," I smiled, " and Usten to the wind." 
" Pause ! " he replied, " and lose all I possess ? " 

Then came a man with bricks upon his head, 
Pursuing blindly his elusive bread. 

I called, " Come, listen to a song of life ! " 
"What is a song? And what is Hfe?" he said. 

23 



THE FROZEN GRAIL 

I cried, " What seek ye all — what wondrous thing ! — 
That ye have time neither to laugh nor sing, 

Nor hearts to love, nor hours to think, or dream?" 
They said, " We do not know : we serve the king." 

"Who is the king to whom your lives are sold? 

What means his power?" I questioned young and old, 

Seeking for knowledge; and I only heard: 
" The king is nameless ; but his power is gold." 

I cried, " Your king is mad ! Why, if he knew 
The test that separates the false and true, — 

That sifts life's kernel from its worthless chaff, — 
Would he not find some nobler use for you?" 



24 



i 



THE MIDNIGHT LUNCH ROOM 

WITH little silver one may enter here, 
And yet those hungry faces watch outside 
The frosty window — and the door is wide ! 
The clatter to my unaccustomed ear 
Of dishes and harsh tongues, is like a spear 
Shaken within the sensitive wounded side 
Of Silence. Soiled, indifferent hands provide 
Pitiful fare, and cups of pallid cheer. 

In my warm, fragrant home an hour ago 
I wrote a sonnet on the peace they win 

Who worship Beauty ! Let me breathe it low . . 
What would it mean if chanted in this din? 

What would it say to those out in the snow. 
Who hunger, and who may not enter in? 



25 



POET-BROTHER 

BEAUTIFUL Brother, with the wild thrush note 
That soars and thrills — and catches in your throat 
With rain of tones and tears ! Do you recall 
How shadow-lyrics flickered on the wall, 
Back in Euterpe's palace of star-snow 
And deathless roses, in the long ago? 
Babes of that gentle mother, from her breast 
Drawing the milk of wonder, we were blest 
With rhythmic sustenance, made pure and strong 
In the high-born fraternity of song. 

Nay, do you wonder we are aliens here 
With the earth-people? We have been too near, 
Brother of mine, to the pale moon of dreams 
Ever to measure how unreal it seems 
To those who love the gaslight. We have heard 
The far-off singing of the homeless bird — 
Whose name is Beauty; but the world of men. 
Busy with cares, will hardly listen when 
Our trembling reverent lips repeat the song. 
Pilgrims of time are we, and overlong 
Seems the great quest. The mystery of tears 
Our souls have tasted; but the listening years 
Will learn a new, glad music through our breath 
Before we lie in the loving arms of Death. 
27 



THE FROZEN GRAIL 

Beautiful elder brother, in the cold 

Desert of hope my spirit is consoled 

By your strong hand-clasp. Though we wander far 

Each from the other, though the future bar 

The doors of life between us; yet I know 

That I shall find you where the lilies blow 

Around the mystic fountain. I shall stand 

Singing beside you on the silver sand 

Of the Uranian ocean. And my faith, 

Beckoning afar, shall call you as a wraith 

Over the shadows, when the demons lean 

And lure you from the crags of the Unseen. 



28 



A BOOK OF MAGIC 

OLD learned reveller in mystic joys 
And darer of the demons ! I have read 
Your symbol-graven pages full of dread — 
Of godlike exaltation. Childish toys, 
Circles and wheels, your subtle hand employs 
To more than mature uses. Were the dead 
Indeed your servants ? Have the unborn fled 
Before your word, that raises or destroys? 

I have a magic higher far than yours, 
Marvellous Lem* and its works are signed 

With God's own seal : The patient love that cures 
All the lone, bitter sadness of the mind; 

The gentle word that comforts and endures; 
The faith that lights a beacon for mankind. 

* Eliphas L^vi: "Haute Magie." 



29 



THE MASTER OF PAIN 



MASTER with the patient eyes. 
Thou art pitiful and wise; 
In the folds of thy red garment 
Hush my broken cries. 



Dost thou hold me then so dear, 
Master, in thy heart austere. 

That I never can escape thee 
For one little year? 

Let my yearning soul enjoy 
Peace and love without alloy 

For one brief but golden season — • 
Thou canst yet destroy ! 

Pity me — as thou art strong! 
Leave me in the fields of song; 

I would linger in the sunshine, 
For the night is long. 

Thou wilt promise unto me 
If I wrest my spirit free, 

Power and treasure beyond measure. 
As my stars decree; 

31 



THE FROZEN GRAIL 

If I drink thy bitter-sweet, 
Bind thy sandals on my feet, 

Thou wilt lead me through Pain's valley 
Unto peace complete. 

I may stand with thee at last 
Where the present and the past 

And the future blend together 
In the timeless Vast; 

Where the singing of the spheres 
Charms away all human fears, 

And the harps of unborn beings 
Echo down the years. 

There the passions of the earth 
Will appear of little worth. 

And my soul will scarce remember 
Its own tears and mirth. 



32 



J 



AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS 

THE hills are not so high as once they were; 
And the old woods, that seemed so dark and vast 
In those remembered child days of the past, 
Are only a few trees, that now confer 
In whispers of this curious wayfarer 

Who stands and gazes so. The young pines cast 
Shy glances at me; they were twigs when last 
I questioned them, and they were tenderer. 

The grey old empty house is like a dream 

That haunts the memory in the clear noonday. 
The silent room of birth is tenanted 
By disembodied yearnings, and they seem 
Vaguely to know that I have found a way 
To something unimagined by the dead. 



33 



MARIE 

OH, why is your merry laugh, Marie, 
Made strange by an under sound? 
It haunts my heart like the memory 

Of a face I have never found. 
'Tis maybe you hear the crying drear 
Of my baby underground. 

Why flows the golden wine, Marie, 

So freely for your sake? 
Can you drink of its joy so feverishly 

With never an after ache? 
'Tis my thirst from the tears I have drunk long years 

No cup can ever slake. 

And why do you dance and sing, Marie, 

Till the call of the wakening lark. 
Till the morning star nods drowsily 

And is only a smouldering spark? 
I'm the lamp at the head of his lonely bed, 

For I know he fears the dark. 

And why when the laughter is gay, Marie, 

And the midnight minutes fly, 
Do you clutch your breast all suddenly. 

With a gasp and a startled cry? 
'Tis the biting drought of his cold, small mouth. 

That will hurt me till I die. 

35 



ON A BUNDLE OF NEW POETS 

THEY are so many who in early spring 
Gather the wild wood violets of song 
To weave a wreath for Beauty ! They are strong 
With untried sinews, and the Vision's wing 
Has brushed their souls in passing. Shadows cling 
Around them in the noonday, and the long 
Reaches of night are peopled with a throng 
Of laurelled phantoms, gravely beckoning. 

They are so few, so few who find the shrine 
Of the white Wonder ! For the air is cold 

Upon the mount of triumph, and malign 
Dragons beset the path. Only the bold 

May dare the love that makes man's words divine — 
The faith that fired the prophet bards of old. 



37 



THE QUEST 

ONE thing I know, if only one : 
Before Life's glowing west 
Shall swallow up my setting sun, 
My soul will end its quest. 

Hard are the roads and hazardous, 
But sure my soul's designs; 

The Moon and mystic Uranus 
Have sealed them in the Signs. 

I know not if the treasure sought 

Be love, or God, or death; 
But that my title has been wrought 

Of passion, blood and breath. 

Somewhere I know the wonder waits; 

And though the days are long, 
I challenge the stern, bloodless Fates- 

To still my calling-song. 

But I have found strange company: 

Aye, in the maze of years 
My mind has known the madman's glee^ 

I have tasted gall and tears. 

39 



THE FROZEN GRAIL 

For I have dared to grasp my dreams, 
Though knowing they were null; 

Have dared to face the light that gleams 
Upon the hollow skull. 

Yet, God, thou knowest I am weak 
And weary, and would rest. 

Unveil the symbol that I seek — 
The Sangreal of my quest! 



40 



-^ 



THE COUNSELLORS 

MY soul was taking counsel with my mind 
Last night when all the city lay asleep. 
The mind said: — Sister, wherefore dost thou weep, 
Now when the world is willing to be kind 
To our divine endeavour? Though we find 

The pathway up the mountain wild and steep, 
Surely we will not stumble if we keep 
Bravely together with our arms entwined. 



But softly the soul answered through her tears: — 
The kindness of the world is like a vine. 

Sister, whose intricate network interferes 
With the soul's cHmbing. Yonder summit shrine 

He never reaches who too fondly peers 
Into the foaming goblet of world-wine. 



41 



REQUIESCAT 

WHY do you cry so loudly underground, 
Buried Ideal? Have I not laid you deep, 
And drugged you with grim truths to make you sleep. 
And set the cross above your low, bare mound? 

You were the last of all my rainbow band ! 
For years I hid you in a guarded place. 
That none might see your sweet, unearthly face. 

Nor hear your words no brain could understand. 

Even to you has come the destined hour 

That waits for all things lovely. On your brow 
I laid my lips in parting, to walk now 

The lone unfriended alien path of power. 

Why do you haunt me still with yearning cries? 
Long have you stood between me and the goal 
Only discovered by the clear-eyed soul 

That dares the face of Life without disguise. 

Never again till cold earth covers me 

Can you and I hold counsel the night through. 
Never again shall I deny for you 

What- all the mocking gods declare to be. 



43 



DANTE 

PALE Priest of Song, immortal as the earth 
That walks the skies with pride, remembering thee ! 
Deign to receive, from my humility. 
One word to swell the story of thy worth 
Kept in the world's great archives. At thy birth 
The stars of Fame's nine heavens auspiciously 
Assembled, and the sun of Poetry, 
Blazing too fiercely, made thy life a dearth. 

But oh, the glory and beatitude, 

When thine ecstatic vision, justified 

By flaming song, made heaven forever real ! 
So, Master, we thy scholars, poor and crude. 
Now follow thee, as thou thy laurelled guide, 
Up the steep road to our divine Ideal. 



45 



BESIDE THE ROAD 

FROM my still cottage, off the road, 
I see the noisy world go by, 
Forever driven by the goad, 
Forever bending to the load. 
Unmindful of the sky. 

The spring is here — to-day I found 

A bed of golden daffodils. 
I passed the dull throng blossom-crowned; 
But could not make them turn around. 

Nor join me on the hills. 

I know a bank beneath the trees 
Where fragrant purple violets blow; 

I plucked the fairest, on my knees; 

Their fresh, cool beauty seemed to please 
Those plodding ones below. 

But when I beckoned toward the wood, 
They did not turn and follow me; 

Yet by their eyes I understood 

They longed to gather flowers, and would — 
If they were only free. 

47 



THE FROZEN GRAIL 

But, oh, it is not always spring ! 

Winter, that smites all blossoms dead. 
Will find my throng still labouring 
Toward the same hollow, useless Thing- 

But youth and passion fled ! 



48 



^ 



TO THE APOLLO BELVEDERE 

O POET'S vision, petrified by art 
In those glad days when Song was deified, 
Before the simple joy of nature died, 
Or man was burdened with a contrite heart ! 
From the dull rabble of our modern mart 
I turn to thee, high being, justified 
In everlasting beauty, passion, pride ! 
In our cold age thou hast no counterpart. 

Glorious Apollo ! Little now remains 
To prove our plodding race was ever young, 

That once man's blood flowed freely in his vein's. 
That out of sheer delight he loved and sung. 
When now a lyric measure thrills his tongue,, 

'Tis mainly to bewail his hidden pains. 



49 



THE VISIT OF THE MUSE 

BEING, that comes to me out of the night, 
Walking the moonbeams all silvery-white, 
What is the message you bid me to write? 

Are you the Muse whom the rhymers of old 

Saw in their visions, but never could hold — 

She whose rare boons are not bartered and sold? 

Long have I wondered when you would appear ! 

But, in my garret so bare and austere, 

Muse, I have naught for your comfort, I fear, — 

Only a cot with a rose at its head, 

A board that is richer in books than in bread, 

A taper whose flame on the future is fed. 

Am I too bold, that I beg you to stay? 

Leisure is costly, and this is the way 

Poets have lived since the myth-makers' day. 

We are so happy with fancies and rhymes. 
What do we need of the toys of the times — 
We who in visions can visit all climes? 

51 



THE FROZEN GRAIL 

You that are waiting with largess for me, 
Give me the words of a song that shall be 
Hope for the bond and a spur for the free ! 

Give me a song of the love that shall bind, 
Even as comrades, the mass of Mankind — 
Song of the guerdon they seeking shall find. 

Burn me, O Muse, with your mystical flame ! 
Whisper the sounds of Man's unified name. 
And I will relinquish the prizes of fame. 

Give me the music my brothers will sing 

In the joy of the morning when Love shall be king 

Then bury me under the daisies of spring. 



52 



THE SOUL OF ART 

I LISTEN to the rhymers' praise of art, 
Of the immortal form, the measured phrase; 
Of the one mirror, and the many ways 
The poet's pale reflection to impart: 
But not a word of the initiate heart. 
Of the incarnate Light whose subtle blaze, 
Intimate of the soul, eludes the gaze — 
Man's goal of yearning, and his counterpart. 

I, too, am learned in the lore of sound, 
In the cold measurement of lyric speech; 

But what availed my knowledge, till I found 
The hidden Thing mere art can never teach. 

The selfless Thing, too great to be renowned. 
So high — it is within the lowest reach ! 



53 



i 



VISHNU, THE PERVADER 

I AM the self in the centre of all things; I am the un- 
known 
Wind-swept void on the perilous far outside of my own 

Self; 
I am the darkness of night, and the mystery under the 

shadows ; 
I am the vision of light in the love-dazzled eyes of the sun. 

I am the ache of desire in the burning caress of the lover; 
Mine is the yearning that draws, and the yielding of love 

in the loved one ; 
I am the soul that gives, and the gift, and the joy of the 

giving; 
I am the quiver of hope in the heart of the mother of men. 



All earth's musical sounds are but echoes that answer my 

piping; 
Mine is the voice of the thunder, mine is the coo of the 

ring-dove ; 
I am the murmur of waters, the whispering wind in the 

pine-trees ; 
I am the word in the silence, the dread, and the listening 

hush. 

55 



THE FROZEN GRAIL 

I am the ecstasy found in the sleep that no mortal remem- 
bers. 

Mine are all creatures that crawl, or aspire, or await their 
aspiring; 

Even the writhe of the worm is his longing endeavour to 
reach Me; 

The cry of the eagle is torn from his heart at my touch in 
the cold air. 



56 



THE DWELLER 

[MEDITATE upon the soul within. 
Mysterious dweller, could I comprehend 
The need of thy beginning, and the end 
Of all thy struggles ! Does the school of Sin 
(So named on earth) provide the discipline 
Thy subtle wisdom seeks — the guide and friend, 
Garbed as a foe, whose conquest shall transcend 
In power all thy lost innocence might win? 

Sages have written of thee; but the word — 
If there be one — that can reveal thy deep, 
Deliberate purpose, still designs to keep 

Its boon, for all my pleading, unconferred. 

Yet puzzling counsels have I overheard 

Sometimes on the unguarded winds of sleep. 



57 



THE EXILE 

OCOOL, still woods and smiling sky ! 
God's home of green and blue ! 
When will the world have done with me 
And send me back to you? 

The noises of the restless town — 

Jarring, importunate — 
Can never drown the memory 

Of whispering pines that wait. 

Oh, will they really wait for me? 

So long I am away ! 
Sometimes I fear the laggard years 

May, after all, betray. 

It would be very hard to die 

Here in the dust and roar. 
And never feel the cool, still woods 

Around me any more ! 



59 



THE ALIEN SINGER 

INFINITUDE of distance lies between 
Your world and mine, dear Stranger, though 
your hand 
Lies in my palm so kindly; for the land 
I dwell in, is the land of the Unseen. 
And though I sing its beauty, what I mean 
You know not, neither do you understand; 
Even the language of our peaceful band 
Sounds strange in your loud, turbulent demesne. 

But we who wander alien on the earth. 
Return in dream to our beloved home 
Beyond the crags of silence. There we roam 

The gardens of the stars that ruled our birth; 

And with our song, from elemental dearth 

Create your future's walls and splendid dome. 



6i 



TWO FRIENDS 

THE sweet friend of my body said to me : 
" Come to the garden, dear, 
And gather roses while the days are clear; 
For bye and bye 'twill be 

The blossomless grey autumn of the year." 

The stern friend of my spirit said to me : 

" Daughter, thy way lies here — 

Here where the flint path leads up to the clear 
Height of Eternity, 

On the Soul's mountain, passionless, austere." 

And I? ... I stood between them silently 
And wiped away a tear; ^ 

For well I knew the flowers would disappear, 

The summer fade for me . . . 

And yet the flint path filled my soul with fear ! 



63 



IN THE MIRROR 

I HOLD life's magic mirror in my hand, 
And gaze in my own eyes that meet me there 
Fearlessly. Sister, passion and despair 
Have set their seals upon thee; but our grand 
Indomitable spirit still doth stand 

Steadfast amid the tumult. Thou dost wear 
Mysteries hidden in thy midnight hair 
Beyond my power ever to understand. 

O thou flower-soft and rosy woman-form 
That our stern spirit chose to test life through ! 
Come, let us laugh together as we view 
The little fears and hates that feebly swarm 
Around our dwelling — safe in every storm 
If to each other thou and I are true. 



65 



PRAYER 

MASTER and Maker of the suns and seas, 
Thou in whose hand the ripening ages fall ! 
I raise my feeble voice in praise of Thee — 
But when hadst Thou the need of mortal praise? 
Whether I cry to Thee as a loving God, 
And bring in prayer to Thee my petty griefs. 
My keen desires, important as the moth's ; 
Or in the silence of the mystic night — 
The solemn silence of Thy sentient stars — 
I dumbly worship Thee as the Unknown God, 
My word can bring Thee nothing that shall add 
Aught to Thine ancient glory. Yet, sometimes. 
When I forget Thee in the rush of song 
That sweeps my rapt soul out beyond all reverence . 
For one swift heart-leap do I feel Thy breath 
In awful benediction on my brow. 



67 



KEATS 

HYPERION of poets . . . Shining one ! 
To thy paviHon in the realm of air 
Can my soul's incense rise? Art thou aware 
Thy name in every singer's orison 
Is writ in stars, not water? Has there none 
Of all earth's dying dreamers scaled the stair 
Of light after thee, breathless to declare 
Even to thy face thy fame beneath the sun? 

But maybe in the region where thou art 
No rumour of the world or the world's ways 

Can ever come. Thy dreams are now a part 
Of God's own vision, and thy deathless lays 

Signed with His name. Approved by Him, thy heart 
Is all oblivious of human praise. 



69 



THE POET 

HE who is born with the vision of beauty. 
The veil of dream, 
Has one supreme and mystical duty — 
To shed the gleam 
Of his fortunate star on the world's grey stream. 

Always the seraphs are winging and singing, 

Though few can hear 
The rapturous music the winds are bringing. — 

Thou keen of ear, 

Translate their songs for our denser sphere. 

Poet, thy joy is the whole world's treasure. 

Not thine alone. 
Thy soul is an overflowing measure 

Of seed to be sown 

In the yearning soil of this alien zone. 



71 



INVOCATION 



MUSE, I have served thee now untiringly 
For seven years . . . Unveil thy hidden face! 
Here at the measure of my term of grace 
Give me thy boon, the benedicite 
My spirit trembles toward. Thy veil I see 

Over the world in spring, and shimmering space 
Is dizzy with thee, and thy wild embrace 
Beckons me in the thrill of poetry. 



Oh, search my spirit with thy cryptic eyes ! 
I am all thine; accept my service now, 
And seal my purposes. Anoint my brow 
With thy protecting chrism: A singer dies 
So soon — sometimes before he justifies 
The faith of his inviolable vow ! 



73 



TWO MEN OF OLD 

TO live and love and sing sweet songs 
Was all the Poet sought; 
His robe was threadbare, but he wore 

The diadem of thought; 
The plodders blamed his dreamy ways, 
Nor knew what he had wrought. 

The Statesman schemed and gave his wealth 

To buy immortal fame; 
The Emperor of half the world 

To grace his banquets came; 
And many little busy men 

Were noisy with his name. 

A thousand years of days and nights, 

And names, have rolled away : 
The Statesman's proud, ephemeral fame 

Sleeps with his nameless clay; 
But the little songs the poet sang 

The whole world loves to-day. 



75 



OSCAR WILDE 

LAUREATE of corruption, on whose brow 
The bay-leaves are all slimy with the worm ! 
Thou art a nightingale whose songs affirm 
The canker in the rosebud, from a bough 
Of the dark cypress warbling. Some strange vow 
Thy spirit must have taken before birth 
To some strange god, to desecrate the earth 
With visions vile and beautiful as thou. 

We loathe thee with the sure, instinctive dread 
Of young things for the graveyard and the scar. 
And though God wept when Lucifer's great star 
With its long train cried from the deeps blood-red. 
Still must we name thee with the second dead. 
For when the angels fall they fall so far ! 



77 



THE ANGEL OF THE SEPULCHRE 

KNOW ye that every Resurrection morn 
The Angel of the Sepulchre comes down 
To the world tomb where slumbering souls lie low, 
And rolls away the stone that guards the door ? 
Thus the great Angel came to me at dawn 
This Easter Sunday, calling to my soul 
That had been crucified by the mad world. 
Broken and buried — was it days ago. 
Or ages that the temple veil was rent? 

Whoever has beheld that Angel's face 
Has felt the dead Christ rising in his heart 
And throwing off the grave-clothes. Till that day. 
The lips of men may chant at Eastertime 
The glory of the Lord they say is risen; 
But all their words are only flickering lights 
Thrown by the rising sun into their tomb, 
Through some slight crevice in the door of clay. 



79 



THE SEEKER 

WHAT is the guerdon that my soul has sought 
Blindly my Hfe long over land and sea? 
Morning and evening does it beckon me, 
And in the blaze of noon's laborious thought. 
But though I ever follow, I have caught 
Only the phantom hands of Mystery 
Death-cold; and from my dreams of ecstasy 
I wake — to face the omnipresent Naught. 

Spirit of mine, thy strength will never tire; 

Yet would I know what means thy pathless quests 
Would know the goal of thy long, vague desire. 

What guide of destiny unmanifest 
So lures thee on with cloud and pillared fire 

Through the dark wilderness of life's unrest? 



8i 



THE EASTER CHILDREN 

CHRIST the Lord is risen ! " 
Chant the Easter children, 
Their love-moulded faces 
Luminous with gladness, 
And their costly raiment 
Gleaming like the Hlies. 

But last night I wandered 
Where Christ had not risen. 
Where love knows no gladness, 
Where the lord of Hunger 
Leaves no room for lilies, 
And no time for childhood. 

And to-day I wonder 
Whether I am dreaming; 
For above the swelling 
Of their Easter music 
I can hear the murmur, 
" Suffer all the children." 

Nay, the world is dreaming ! 
And my seeing spirit 
Trembles for its waking. 
When their Saviour rises 
To restore the lilies 
To the outcast children. 



83 



THE GERMAN IMMIGRANTS 

HERE to the home where past and future meet, 
By myriads you have come, your wistful hearts 
Aflame with hope. You traffic in the marts, 
And with the very mortar of the street 
Mix your high dreams. Your fields of waving wheat 
Banner the West; your tireless mining starts 
The fires of nations; while our new world arts 
Owe to the land of Faust and Marguerite 
Treasures of virile beauty. Brain and brawn, 
O Rhineland ! have you given us, and profound 
Are your seed-thoughts sown in our mental ground. 
Your son was he who hailed the social dawn; 
Your sons were they whose harmonies have drawn 
Our new-born music from the caves of sound. 



85 



SONG OF THE ITALIAN IMMIGRANTS 

FROM Rome are we, and Genoa, 
And the warm southern vinelands, too; 
Naples and all Italia 
Remember us in dreams . . . but, ah ! 
Our hearts have chosen you, 

Great unknown country over-seas, 

America ! Will you deny 
Our prayer? or raise us from our knees, 
With leave to labour as the bees 

All day without a sigh? 

Italia's sons no toils dismay: 

We raised the Colosseum's wall, 
We laid the peerless Appian way 
Never to crumble till the day 

When all old things shall fall. 

We are Colombo's kindred; we 

Follow the star that lured him far 
To find thy cradle in the sea, — 
Light of the world. Land of the free ! 
Unbar thy doors, unbar ! 



87 



NEW YORK HARBOUR AT NIGHT 

THE magic veil of night is on the bay. 
Beneath its starry folds the waters glow — 
A floor of lapis-lazuli below; 
The lights along the shores, a girdle gay 
Of many-coloured jewels, gleaming play; 
In the far west the little moon hangs low; 
While from yon dusky form the torch's glow 
Tells where our sleepless guardian stands for aye. 

City of mine — lovely by day, by night ! 
Like Venus, you have risen from the sea. 

That holds your dear feet still in tender grasp ; 
Like Venus, you have won by fair decree 
Your beauty's million- jewelled girdle bright. 
Held round you by the Bridge's diamond clasp. 



89 



THE BUILDER 

ONLY the Dreamer builds to challenge Time, 
Whether he builds a state, or builds a rhyme; 
The vision of his midnight greets the day 
In Beauty's form — imperishable, sublime. 



91 



,L 



THE INVADERS 

STRANGE is that timeless battle for the world 
Which poets wage ! Their destiny it is 
To lead invasions down the centuries, 
Beyond the outposts of that realm whose purled 
And lilied banner God Himself unfurled 
In the beginning; for no realm of His 
He guards like that of Beauty. Ecstasies 
Against their souls, like passionate armies hurled, 
Still drive them back when they approach too near. 
Smiting them prostrate if they do not fly 
The fiery onslaught. Should the world deny 
Their humble soldier-wages, then they cheer 
Each other with their songs, and disappear 
Down the long winding roads of the bye-and-bye. 



93 



THE WORD OF SUMMER 

DROPPING roses from her hand, 
Came dear Summer down the land, 
With her hair a tawny banner 
By the breezes fanned. 

And she looked and laughed at me. 
Where I sat all mournfully, 

Counting over my lost labours. 
Near a cypress tree. 

And she said : " Oh ! why repine ? 
All these patient works of mine — 

Leaves and flowers and fragrant apples- 
I must soon resign. 

" Not one blossom will remain ! 
But do I, like thee, complain? 

Nay, I pause and rest a season. 
Then begin again." 



95 



MY GOLDEN SANDS 

'T'^ 0-DAY I meditate upon the years 
X Whose sands have fallen in the glass of Time 
Since I was flmig into this foreign clime 

Out of infinitude. And it appears 

The one reward of pleasure and of tears 
Is always knowledge; that the paradigm 
Whereon my life was modelled, is sublime 

Experience, beyond all woman fears. 

And though my precious grains of golden sand 
Have dropped this first faint signal on my hair, 
I would not count them backward. And I swear 
Each as it falls shall leave at my demand 
Some treasure of the Spirit in my hand — 
And take no bauble that I would not spare ! 



97 



MAGDALENA 

I HAVE seen the Master's face 
Bending down to my low place — 
Seen his eyes of boundless pity 
Proving my disgrace. 

' And I follow at his side, 
Though He knows all I would hide- 
All the burning love I could not 
Smother if I tried." 



99 



THE VIGIL OF JOSEPH 

AFTER the Wise Men went, and the strange star 
Had faded out, Joseph the father sat 
Watching the sleeping Mother and the Babe, 
And thinking stern, sweet thoughts the long night through. 

" Ah, what am I, that God has chosen me 

To bear this blessed burden, to endure 

Daily the presence of this loveliness, 

To guide this Glory that shall guide the world? 

" Brawny these arms to win Him bread, and broad 
This bosom to sustain Her. But my heart 
Quivers in lonely pain before that Beauty 
It loves — and serves — and cannot understand ! " 



101 



COME TO ME, LITTLE ONE 

COME to me, little one, drowsy and dear; 
Mother will spare me her darling awhile. 
I am so lonely when twilight is here ! 
Lie on my bosom, and nestle, and smile. 

I have no little one, dearie, like you, 
No little hand to hold close in the night, 

No one to dream of the lonely hours through. 
No one to wake for when God sends the light. 

You are so sorry? Oh, bless you, my sweet! 

Dear little fingers that wipe off the tears ! 
Little soft body and little white feet. 

How will they treat you — the terrible years? 

Life is so fair to a baby like you; 

All things are wonderful under the sun, 
Rainbows are real, and all stories are true. — 

Would they might be so when childhood is done ! 

Wide little eyes that are questioning so. 
Life is no stranger to you than to me. 

The secrets worth knowing I never shall know, 
The end of the rainbow I never shall see. 
103 



THE FROZEN GRAIL 

So, little drowsy one, nestle and sleep, — 

Lullaby, baby, O lullaby-low ! 
There always is peace in the dreams that are deep,- 

Lullaby, little one, lullaby-low. 



104 



THE MOSQUITO 

I'^HE slime has taken wings, and cries to me 
To feed its fury with my finer life ; 
So full of the intense desire to he 
Is each earth atom, and so fierce the strife! 



105 



THE VISITOR 

ACROSS the city roofs it came, 
A golden butterfly, 
Into my open window here — 
So bare and grey and high ! 

Unmindful of my startled gaze. 

It hovered overhead; 
Then lit beside the crepen veil 

Which lay upon the bed. 

Only a moment did it stay 

Beside the symbol there; 
Its golden wings it spread again 

And vanished in the air. 

How strange that such a visitor 
Should seek this granite height !- 

Or was it the bewildered soul 
Of her who died last night? 



107 



THE HAUNTER OF THE TWILIGHT 

WHERE are you now, as the night draws down, 
Comrade of mine? 
I have followed you out of the noisy town 
To a narrow house, all bare and brown, 
And left you lonely and supine, 
Without a sign. 

Three long days did I question you 

When none was nigh. 
Three long nights did my soul pursue 
Your fleeing soul, for a final clue 

To the mystic errand, swift and high, 

That made you die. 

Side by side we were sitting there 

At dusk of day. 
Though nearer the door, I was not aware 
When the chilly Stranger passed my chair. 

I could not hear what you turned to say 

As you went away. 

Comrade of mine, was the secret sweet 

The Stranger taught — 
A message of triumph to charm defeat. 
Giving you joy of your last heartbeat? 

You went so quickly he must have brought 

The thing you sought. 

109 



THE FROZEN GRAIL 

Then why I am troubled as night draws near 

With a vague unrest? . . . 
It is not hope, it is not fear, 
But I feel an uneasy presence here; 

And I know for the souls who have entered the West, 

Deep sleep is best. 



no 



PENITENCE 

OH, bitter are the penitential tears 
That water the Tree of Knowledge ! Could I grasp 
Tightly the subtil serpent, till no gasp 
Of life were left in that lithe form that rears 
Its jewelled head to mock me, my proud years 

Would wear the achievement as a diamond clasp. 
But under every rose-tree the coiled asp 
Waits with its message for my willing ears. 

" Stay thy rash hand ! " the great Voice counsels me. 

" Knowest thou not the Teacher, foolish one ? 
Study the strange new lesson given thee. 

Waste not thine hour regretting what is done. 
Thou knowest much that still was mystery 

Ere thy regretful tears darkened the sun." 



Ill 



ON LAKE GEORGE 

BECALMED within my little boat I lie, 
Between the night lake and the star-eyed sky, 
And all the spellbound Universe is L 

My dark doubt is the cloud on yonder height. 
My faith — the peace that hovers on the night, 
My lives — the myriad rays of the starlight. 

I am these yearning spheres of sky and earth ; 
My thought encircles their stupendous girth 
As light encircled us before our birth. 

One, in the womb of Life, did we remain 

Through ages unrecorded; and God's gain 

Was great the day we were brought forth in pain. 

But suddenly my boat rocks in the wind ! 
Madly the lake reels — like a wayward mind, 
And all the eyes of night are stricken blind. 

The cloud from yonder height obscures all things: 
The peace that hovered, now beats frightened wings, 
And my lone life to her lone body clings. 

Now, on the sea of Time, only a mark 
Am I ; my form is the frail tossing barque 
Between me and the void and timeless dark. 

113 



THE GUARDIANS 

THERE is a beauty in the faded leaves 
That He all disregarded on the ground; 
The guardians of the blossom and the fruit 
In those dry forms are found. 

And there is beauty in the faded men — 
The disregarded on life's toilsome ways; 

Their blood has fed the blossom of our songs. 
And theirs should be the praise. 



"5 



A WORD 

I BREATHED a little word all heedlessly 
One cloudy morning to a doubting friend, 
A word whose deeps I did not comprehend, 
A word of wonder and of destiny. 
'Twas long ago; but still those sounds to me 
Re-echo, and their burden will extend 
In broken rhythm beyond time's faint end, 
Marring the stillness of eternity. 

So now I stand with wide and watchful eyes, 
And ever-guarding finger on my lip, 
That from my heart no heedless word may slip- 
No subtle word for doubt to signalise. 
Something is wrong with man, if, to be wise, 
He must forego freedom in fellowship ! 



"7 



REALISATION 

HE gazed indifferently across the wide 
Home river mirroring the infinite sky. 
" Oh, to behold Jerusalem ! " he cried. 
" To bathe in Jordan river ere I die ! " 

As an earthworm that restlessly inquires 

The road to daylight, reaches the sun's beams. 

So he at last came to his heart's desire — 
Came to the city and river of his dreams. 

Jerusalem the Mighty was now spread 

Before him . . . He was homesick and forlorn. 

" Why, 'tis not half so beautiful," he said, 

" As the elm-shaded town where I was born ! " 

He bathed in Jordan river ... It was cold. 

Was this the storied stream that he had sought? 
" Oh, how the books deceived me ! Why, the old 

River at home is twice as wide ! " he thought. 



119 



THE OFFERING 

SOUL of the Universe, to Thee I bring 
Tribute of all my treasures, and entreat 
Only Thy full acceptance. At Thy feet 
I lay them down — a humble offering. 
But all I have : The songs thou bad'st me sing, 
My love, my dreams of fame, my last heartbeat. 
Yea, I would make the sacrifice complete, 
Nor for myself retain one precious thing. 

Take Thou that narrow self, and let it be 

One with Thy vast Self; for the road is dark 
Whereby I travel, and my soul's lone spark 

Yearns for the parent Flame. Or, make of me — 
If for that boon unfit — a warning mark 

Upon the reefs of life's uncharted sea. 



121 



THE SONG OF MY SOUL 

LONG did I wonder what my soul might be. 
Was it a pale reflection of God's light 
Upon the surface of terrestrial night? 
Was it the memory of eternity 
Hidden behind the world- veil from my sight? 
There came no answer, though I questioned long, 
Until one day I heard my soul's own song: 
" I am the spirit of Love that burns in thee 
And in all things, quivering to reunite." 



12-? 



THE SINGER 

IF any rumours of my humble days 
Be blown along the dusty roads of time, 
May they not be of one who built the rhyme 
But as a higher business ; nor in praise 
Of all-triumphant wrong disgraced the bays 
Won by true singers in a worthier clime; 
Nor on the mighty masters' paradigm 
Broidered the ornaments of empty phrase. 

But may those rumours be of one whose lyre 
Was the deep voice of the imprisoned soul, 

Whose mystic incantations could inspire 

Visions, and power to read Life's hidden scroll: 

Pain's purpose, and the meaning of desire — 

The urge that drives us toward the unknown goal. 



125 



NOTE 

The Frozen Grail, which Commander Peary carried 
with him to the North Pole, was originally pubHshed in 
the New York Times, on the day when he started for the 
Arctic. Other poems in this collection have appeared in 
The Atlantic Monthly, The Century, The Forum, The 
Bookman, Lippincott's, The Smart Set, The Craftsman, 
Munsey's, The New Age, The Cosmopolitan, The Woman's 
Home Companion, The Metropolitan, and Everybody's. 
Thanks are due to the editors of these magazines for the 
courteous permission to reprint. 



126 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



